The Darkened Atrium
by Spittlebug
Summary: Greg, a fumbling twenty-something, works at a gym that is not as it seems... Disney Villains and Marvel Villains gym!


**A/N: As of now, the Disney and Marvel villains won't be meeting up. But there is quite a show planned… :3**

"Look, I'm telling you, this job is a pain." The young man with curly brown hair laid back in a swivel chair behind a front desk, holding the cell phone to his ear with his shoulder. "Yeah, I get paid good. I mean, it's 18 dollars an hour, plus benefits…" A smattering of speaking could be heard on the other line. "It may not seem like a hard job, but believe me, it definitely is. I don't think anyone could ever understand…" Greg paused as he heard a swoosh from outside. "Listen, I've got to go." He clicked the phone off just as a looming man with blue skin entered the area.

The young man sighed. "Hello, welcome to the Darkened Atrium gym. How can I help you," he stated in a bored voice.

The blue-skinned man frowned. "I want to use the gym, you idiot," he said, shaking his head. He flashed his ID card before the man at the counter. Greg squinted at it, and then shook it from the other's grasp.

"Um, Mr. Hades, sir – your membership expired two months ago," the attendant said. "I tried to give you fair warning before –"

"WHAT!" the lord of the underworld screeched, his hair turning red and bursting up into high flames. Hades got into Greg's face. "I outta get a membership for free! Do you KNOW how hard it is running HELL, boy?" Greg grimaced, shrinking back. He finally whispered back.

"Well, I could give you a discount, sir, if-if you'd like…"

Hade's demeanor changed instantly. "Well, that's more like it!" He paid his membership fees and left, waving a hand. "Sorry about that; I'm a little hot under the collar these days…"

A paw holding a membership card slammed itself on the front desk. "Ah, long time no see, Scar. You're good to go." He heard a little mumbling as the big cat walked away.

Suddenly, a fancy looking-old woman entered the gym. "Excuse me, young man but are there spa services here?"

Greg rolled his eyes, shaking his head. "I already told you, Lady Tremaine. This is an exercise gym, not a resort."

"So that'd be a no, then?" she answered snobbishly.

"No."

After Lady Tremaine had left, Greg pulled out a PlayBoy mag, sighing as he flipped through the pages. "I hate Disney days," he mumbled.

Sometime later, most of the Disney villains were settled at their exercises. Greg looked up every now and then to make sure that Captain Hook hadn't gotten his hook caught in the rower, or Scar hadn't gotten his tail run through the treadmill. Such things had happened before, and they hadn't been pretty. He would have liked to let them stay stuck, but it was his job to help out the gym patrons. Of course, he didn't always have to help them right away…

A rap on the counter stole Greg out of his Playboy-induced coma. "Yes?" he said, looking up.

A formidable-looking older man, maybe in his fifties, looked down upon the man in his mid-twenties. His nose was crooked and he was wearing a ridiculous hat and gown. Greg wondered if the man ever smiled, or if he was even capable of smiling. "I'd like a membership," the man said coldly.

Greg pulled away from the man in his swivel chair, fetching an enrollment sheet from a desk drawer. He placed the sheet and a pen on the counter. "It's a hundred bucks for the first month and-" he began to rattle off.

The imposing man interrupted him, slamming a fist down on the counter. "Travesty! I shouldn't have to pay anything! I'm the head of the court of justice!"

Greg sighed. "Look, everyone has to pay, and it's cheaper than you'd find anywhere else." _As if there's another gym that caters to super villains, _he thought. "Are you going to join, or not? Because if not," he risked a quick glance at his Playboy, "I have work to do."

The Judge of Paris was taken aback by the clerk's bluntness. He paused, then snorted. "Fine. I'll pay your little fees." The man filled out the paperwork and shoved it back at Greg. The attendant looked the paper over.

"Well, Frollo," he said, mispronouncing his name, "everything looks to be in place. I'll have your ID card printed out by next week and for now, here's a temporary one."

Frollo snatched up the card. "It's Judge FRO-LLO, not 'froll-o,' you fool," he said, walking off muttering something about incompetent sinners.

Greg realized something and called out to Frollo. "Judge, sir, wait!" Frollo returned. "You have to have gym clothes to use the equipment."

"Gym clothes?" The cruel man sounded puzzled.

Greg almost laughed. "I have some extras in one of the lockers. Follow me."

A few minutes later, Frollo ended up looking more ridiculous than he had before, wearing a stained white tank-top, bright orange biker shorts, an old headband, and beaten up sneakers. "What is the meaning of this? I look ridiculous!"

Greg snickered. "No more than you did before," he said softly.

"What was that insolent remark?"

"It's required to use the equipment. Everyone else is dressed like that," he said loudly. And indeed, it was true. All of the other villains were donned in shirts and shorts. But they, at least, wore more tasteful garments than Frollo.

Frollo sniffed. "Whatever you say, fool."

"My name's Greg."

Frollo looked back and grinned evilly. "I know," he said before going off to the elliptical.

The young adult had completely abandoned his Playboy to watch the other villains taunt and inspect the newcomer. It was obvious that the judge was going to stick out like a sore thumb, and he did. Greg laughed to himself before checking the clock. "Five minutes 'till closing, guys," he said, a little sadly.

After all the patrons had left, Greg frowned.

Villains.

They never could seem to wipe the equipment down with sanitizer. 


End file.
